


Penance

by Mama_Qwerty



Series: Finding the Happy Again [2]
Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mama_Qwerty/pseuds/Mama_Qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the confrontation, things are different. Cosmo's different. That's good . . . isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net under my "qwerty-kitties" name. Some tweaks here and there. Enjoy!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

It seems like I’ve said that about a million times in the month since that night you confronted me, and I’ll say it a million more if you let me. It sounds so pathetic, compared to how I treated you. But I don’t know what else to say. Every time I think about it, that’s the first thing that pops into my head. 

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I wish I were smarter so I could write you a long, heart-felt apology, telling you how much you mean to me, and how grateful I am that you didn’t just leave. You should have, you know. You don’t deserve to be treated like . . . well, like the way I treated you.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I’m your husband. I should love you. I should be thankful that such a beautiful, smart woman decided to spend the rest of her life with me. I should stand by your side, and protect you from attack and pain. But I didn’t. I hurt you instead. You should have left. Why didn’t you?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

That night seems like so long ago, but every minute, every second still stands out so clearly and perfectly in my mind. I can still see the pain in your eyes when you asked me that horrible, scary question: _“Why don’t you love me anymore?”_

You said it quietly, like you were trying to keep yourself from crying. I’m crying now just thinking about it—my wife, my lovely, sweet wife thought I didn’t love her anymore. In my stupidity, I didn’t know why you thought such a thing then, but I know now. You thought I didn’t love you anymore because that’s how I was treating you. And I was so stupid I never saw it.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

You confronted me, and to my stupid, slow mind, it seemed to come straight out of the blue. I didn’t understand why you were so mad over what I considered—at the time—‘a few jokes’. It makes my stomach turn to think I was SO stupid I didn’t see how mean I was. How hurtful I was. How . . . seemingly oblivious I was to your pain.

I was killing you emotionally—crushing your heart, not to mention your trust in me—and I didn’t notice. That thought chills me to the bone. It really does. I. Didn’t. Notice. What kind of evil creature abuses his wife and NOT NOTICES??

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

You should have left. You don’t deserve to be stuck with someone who is apparently so stupid he doesn’t see when you’re hurting. Especially when he’s the one hurting you. You deserve someone better. Someone smarter. Someone who’ll treat you the way you should be treated—like a queen. Why didn’t you leave?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Stupid. I’ve heard that my entire life, and for once, I completely believe it. I am stupid. Stupid because I took the love of a wonderful woman and casually tossed it aside, crushing it beneath my shoe. And then I laughed in her face. Over and over again. I’m worse than stupid. I’m heartless.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I never seemed to notice the look on your face that appeared after one of my ‘jokes’—the pained, hurt expression that just thinking about makes me now cry even harder—but each and every instance is etched in my memory, burned into my mind for all eternity. Knowing I am the one who caused such a horrible expression—not just once, but too many times to count—makes my heart hurt.

How could I have been so blind? How could I have ignored that?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I don’t deserve you. I’ve thought that since the first day we met. I don’t deserve someone so beautiful and smart and kind and loving. You’ve gotten into such trouble because of me. You’ve been so hurt because of me. I don’t deserve you, and you deserve better. Maybe I should leave.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I’m weak. I probably should leave, but I can’t. Because I love you. And I can’t possibly leave you. Even now—in the middle of the night when my thoughts are at least somewhat organized, when I am able to think things through and understand just how unforgivable my actions toward you were, and I know, logically and responsibly, that the only course of action that would be best for both of us is for me to leave—I can’t bring myself to actually go. I wish I could.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I’m scared. I’m scared that my stupid mind will simply forget about what’s happened, and I’ll hurt you again. I hope like mad that the horrible, pained look on your face will haunt me forever and keep me from saying or doing something stupid and mean, but I’m really, really scared I’ll hurt you again. Maybe worse. Because I forget. Because I’m stupid.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I never could. But I did. Does that mean I’ll do it again?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I don’t sleep much now. I can’t. That night keeps creeping into my dreams, and you keep asking me that question that makes me break out in goosebumps, even though I wake up sweating. _“Why don’t you love me anymore?”_

Hearing that come from your beautiful lips makes my heart hurt. Seeing the pain in your lovely pink eyes makes me want to burst into tears. Knowing that you really believed it makes me want to die. How could I have done that to you?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Worthless. Anything I can say about my actions is completely worthless. There is no excuse. No reasoning. My actions are my own, and no one else can or should take responsibility for them, even indirectly. I behaved like an insensitive jerk, and treated my wife like she wasn’t important. How? How could I have allowed myself to act like that?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Stupid. Heartless. Worthless. Pathetic. That’s me.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

How could you love me, even now, after all the things I’ve done, all the hurt I’ve caused? Please tell me, Wanda. I don’t understand. Why don’t you hate me? You should. I do.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I don’t deserve your love. I’ve ruined it. Why would you so freely give it again? Aren’t you worried I’ll hurt you again? Aren’t you scared of what I might say?

I am. I’m terrified of what I might hear falling out of my mouth.

I’m terrified to see your face change—the loving smile would drop first, and you’d look shocked for a second before you grimace slightly as the pained expression so familiar in my mind’s eye settles into place. That expression follows me wherever I go, asleep or awake. I never want to see it on your beautiful face again—but I’m scared I will. You don’t know how scared I am of putting it there again.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

You’re so beautiful, lying in bed with your hair fanned out on your pillow. You look like an angel—a beautiful pink haired angel. I had forgotten how soft and smooth your hair was, like liquid silk. Watching it move was always a little hypnotic—it was so shiny and the color was rich and deep, like a pink ocean. But touching it . . . touching it was always something I absolutely loved. I could run my fingers through it forever and never tire of it.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I dare not do it now though, for fear of waking you. If you wake up and see the tears flowing endlessly from my eyes, not to mention the soggy mess my cheeks have become, I’m too worried you’d take me into your arms to comfort me. I do not deserve comfort, especially not from you, no matter how wonderful it would feel to be in your soft, warm embrace. Allowing myself to fall into your loving arms, to inhale your delicate smell—a smell that always reminded me of strawberries and daisies for some reason—would almost guarantee that I would simply forget all about this horrible time. Forgetting could mean that I might do it again. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. Never.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

We sleep in the same bed again, and it’s both wonderful and terrible. Sleeping next to you, feeling the familiar heat from lying next to the woman I love, has never felt so amazing. I honestly cannot remember why I created a separate bed for myself in the first place, and now that we are together again, I can’t imagine sleeping any other way.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

But, sleeping next to you also means I have to be very careful when the nightmares wake me. I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams since that night—the night of the Confrontation, with a capital C.

I can’t stop thinking about that question. The question that started it all. _“Why don’t you love me anymore?”_

The dreams always start with you asking me that, but what happens next is always different. Sometimes I try to explain, but you won’t listen and finally leave with tears streaming down your face. Sometimes, to my utter horror, I hear myself saying that I DON’T love you anymore and wish you’d go away. Sometimes Jorgen shows up and blasts me again and again for hurting you.

And sometimes, sometimes I just stand there, looking at you helplessly, not saying anything at all. I think I hate those ones most of all.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Does part of you still worry I’ll hurt you again? That fear seems to be on my mind a lot lately, but do you think about it? You seem to be looking a little less sad since that night, but the shine in your eyes—the shine I never noticed had disappeared until that night, actually—seems uncertain. I think you’re scared to open yourself back up to me.

To tell the truth, I’m scared too. After what happened, after what I’ve done, I’m terrified of you.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I’m sure this sounds strange—YOU were the one who was hurt, after all, why would I be the one who’s scared? But I am. I’m scared of how close you came to having your heart broken. Because of me. Because you gave your heart to me, the man you loved and who—supposedly—loved you. I hadn’t really thought about how delicate a heart could be, and how easily it could be hurt—until that night. Then I knew.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I saw your heart that night. I saw it in your eyes, your actions, your tears. It was hurt, covered with a spider web of cracks that I had created with each and every ‘joke’ I said. One more harsh word from me and I think it would have shattered. I think you knew that too. That’s why you were so scared.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

But, the more I think about it, the more I wonder. Were you scared that I didn’t love you? Or that I did?

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

That night was a month ago tonight. Things are different now. Better . . . but different. It’s kind of like we’re dating again—shy, scared and unsure about how to act with each other. When we hold hands, it’s strange—they fit together perfectly like they always have, but your grip isn’t strong and confident like it was. You seem . . . almost shy.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

You seem more fragile than you used to be, and I guess it’s because your heart’s still healing. I’m trying my best to be strong for you, to protect you from anything that might hurt you while you’re vulnerable like this. Including me.

I will never allow myself to utter another negative comment to you, in jest or otherwise. I’ve abused your heart too much recently, and I am careful to be gentle and tender with you. I snap at Timmy when he tries to get me to make a mean joke about you, and now he is mad at me, but that doesn’t matter. Only you matter.

Only you.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I don’t think we’ll ever be the same as we were before, but I can only hope that you’ll smile more when you feel better. I’ve always loved your smiles, and your laugh, and the way your nose crinkles when something strikes you particularly funny.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

I love to see you happy, Wanda. Please be happy again. Please show me your smile again. Please let me hear that loud, totally free laugh of yours that I love. Please crinkle your nose again.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Please love me again, Wanda. I’ll apologize until the end of time, and do anything you ask of me, just please love me.

_I’m sorry, Wanda._

Please forgive me, Wanda. Even though I shouldn’t ask and don’t deserve it, please tell me you forgive me. Even though I’ll never forgive myself.

I’m sorry Wanda.

I can’t say it enough. I can never say it enough.

I love you, Wanda.

I love you.


End file.
